


If you say i'm yours, i'm yours

by skullage



Series: i'm not done yet (falling for you) [1]
Category: Block B, Winner (Band)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 11:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11012448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullage/pseuds/skullage
Summary: The thought isn't new.





	If you say i'm yours, i'm yours

**Author's Note:**

> so ive been dragged into the zkm hell and posting about it on my [shameless plug](http://twitter.com/skvllage). i'm currently writing the extended version of this (set after this fic) but had to knock this out of the way just to do it. hopefully if you like this the full ver doesn't disappoint

Minho’s been having trouble getting to sleep. It’s hard to, when he’s got so much on his mind, when he has to listen to the sounds coming through the walls knowing what they are, as he has increasingly over the last few months. The scuffle of Jiho’s footsteps through the dorm is always distinctive enough that Minho knows it’s him, holds his breath when he hears Seungyoon’s door open and Jiho make a soft noise that Minho’s delicate hearing and the lack of insulation in the walls makes clear. Seungyoon’s mattress groans as Jiho lies down, followed by their whispering, the intimate kind that lovers do, that Minho hates himself for listening to, and then it’s clothes discarded and blankets shoved around and Minho imagines it more than he actually knows what’s going on, but it’s there in his mind, them on their sides, Jiho pushing into Seungyoon, and their expressions. He can’t get it out of there.

Seungyoon’s gasps cut through the air and Jiho’s encouraging words, his _I just want to make you feel good, Yoon-ah, does this feel good?_ , make Minho break out in a sweat. He’s torn between kicking off the covers and pulling them over his head, but he knows from experience that won’t block out the noise. At least, that’s what he tells himself. There’s a fine line between that, and wanting to hear. The sound of the mattress springs groaning and popping under their weight as they move, as Jiho thrusts into Seungyoon and Seungyoon pushes back into him, is loud enough to drive Minho crazy. He can feel himself getting hard, and it’s pathetic, getting turned on at the thought of his two best friends fucking in the next room, but knowing that doesn’t make the physical sensation any less urgent than it’s ever been. He’s been good, so far, hasn’t touched himself any of the night Jiho’s come over, but tonight. Tonight’s different. Something about the combination of too many energy drinks and not enough output in the studio has him hard up and aching listening to Seungyoon’s moans through the wall. _I bami sirheoyo_.

His cock is trapped between him and the mattress and the relief he feels when he rolls onto his back and gets a hand around himself is immediate and immense. His palm is too dry but he likes it, likes the little bit of friction that makes it that more pleasurable because he has to work for it. Seungyoon’s still moaning and Jiho’s praises have grown louder, loud enough to drown out Minho’s racing heartbeat, loud enough that it doesn't seem like such a stupid, perverted idea, but something natural. Something reasonable.

The mattress springs creak louder as they change position, and he can only imagine it, that’s all he has, not the certainty he feels that Jiho has Seungyoon on his hands and knees and is fucking into him. That’s what Minho would do, and he’d do a lot of things to get Seungyoon underneath him. Rim him until he comes. Let Jiho fuck him as much as he wants -- sometimes they go three or four times a night, fucking into the daylight while Minho listens in agony -- suck them both off, let them come all over him, anything.

He should be annoyed. He should be turned off at the thought of them fucking, at listening to them, the two closest people in his life, instead of imagining what they’re doing, instead of stroking himself to hardness and smearing the pre-come leaking out of his cock around like he’s playing with it. The bed springs stop for long enough that he thinks they’ve stopped before he hears Seungyoon’s voice cut clear through the quiet, “Fuck me up against the wall.”

They shuffle around the room and get into place, hands slapping against the wall separating Seungyoon and Minho’s bedrooms. It’s louder now, closer, clearer, Jiho fucking frantically into Seungyoon, and in his haste to get the lube Minho knocks several things off his bedside table. He slicks his fingers up and pushes them inside himself thinking about Seungyoon’s fingers, about Jiho’s fingers, all of them long and slender and stretching him open, fucking into him with them, pushing all the way down to the knuckle. He frigs himself roughly, wanting it to be over at the same time he wants it to last, wants to listen to them all night, wants to join them.

This thought isn’t new. It was always there in the back of his mind, and has been stewing ever since Jiho took a look at Seungyoon two hours after they met and turned to Minho with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you getting on that?” Jiho asked, and Minho spluttered out a response, a _hell no_ or something equally pathetic, _he’s my friend, I don’t even think about him like that_ , lying through his teeth. “Then stand aside,” Jiho said, a cat-who-got-the-cream smirk on his face, and that was it. By the next day they were dating, and fucking, and making each other happy. Jiho didn’t mess around, and apparently neither did Seungyoon. Minho only wishes he had that kind of initiative, instead of letting his friendship drag on and pining while it did.

His skin starts to catch in a painful way so he slicks up the hand not inside himself and continues to stroke, quickening the pace until he can feel his orgasm building while Seungyoon’s panting turns more into whining.

“Baby, I’m going to come,” Jiho says, and Seungyoon encourages him, says, “Fill me up, I want you to,” and Minho thinks, _me too_. It’s Jiho’s drawn out gasp as he orgasms that pushes Minho over the edge until he’s coming all over his own stomach and chest, gasping out loud.

Seungyoon’s voice cuts through Minho’s afterglow. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Jiho’s voice is softer post-orgasm, lazier.

“Nothing,” Seungyoon says. “You gonna suck me off already?”

“Greedy,” Jiho says, but he drops to his knees while Minho wipes himself clean with the closest t-shirt. Jiho starts to moan around Seungyoon’s cock, but Minho’s heard enough. He puts his headphones in and rolls over, feeling unsatisfied and dirty.

 

//

 

Morning comes soon enough, but when Minho walks out into the living room, he wishes it hadn’t. The mixture of sex and Jiho’s cologne is thick in the air when he walks past Seungyoon’s bedroom, and the evidence of last night is marked all over Seungyoon’s chest and neck in hickeys and finger-shaped bruises. He’s singing to himself, smiling down at Rei in his lap, and doesn’t notice Minho come in, and Minho stares too long, cataloguing every mark, analysing the curve of Seungyoon’s lips, as if somehow knowing how happy Jiho makes him will make wanting him easier to deal with.

It doesn’t.


End file.
